DAPHNE GREENGRASS
She heard her father speak of him, only once and never again, to her mother, late at night. She hid in the shadows then, not wanting to be caught and scolded, but curious at why her parents chose to speak in such hushed tones at the dead of night. Though, as the candle that dimly lit the room slowly flickered through it's last dregs of life, she hurried her way back to her bedroom, a simple thought echoing through her young mind. "Harry Potter, stolen."
It wasn't until later that the memory of the silent, whispered words were stirred up again. Years later, where she stood with a new hairstyle, pointed features, and a taller height. After she said formal goodbyes to her straight-faced parents, and headed to board the opulent, scarlet train, she heard his name first mentioned, reverently, and each carriage she passed repeated the sentiment. Harry Potter, they said it as if he was a god.
She heard splashes of rumours, none of which she particularly cared for, but they were interesting all the same. "The boy's been raised by muggles!" A gangly girl had told her, wild blond hair covering her eyes. "He slayed a dragon when he was not even three!" A boy trembled with excitement before skipping off to tell the outrageous tale to anyone who would listen. She could only scoff, the boy was probably not even walking at the age of three, let alone raising majestic swords to vanquish dangerous beasts.
Yet, with each tale she heard of Harry Potter, each standing as more grand and unbelievable than the last, she sunk deeper into the roots of wonder, and found herself looking forward to her first meeting with the elusive boy.
It wasn't until the train started slowing, letting her look at the views of a perfect moon hitting still water that she allowed herself the small feeling of excitement for what might come. The chance for her to use magic, to eat in a crowded hall, away from the silent destitution of a sterile manor.
She changed into her new robes, crisp black with a plain crest, and played with her hair until it hung just right. And when the train stilled, and everything moved slightly forward and abruptly back, she was one of the first to step out of her compartment, hurriedly heading towards the open doors.
"Firs' years!" She heard a gruff voice, "firs' years over here!" She was swept by the crowd, and found herself walking to the largest man she'd ever seen.
"Blimey, he's huge!" she heard someone exclaim, and could only nod at the sentiment. The head of scraggly black hair, and a large, bushy black beard only complimented his imposing figure, and she couldn't help but stare at him with wide eyes. His big, hairy face beamed over the sea of heads. Though he cut an imposing frame, at that moment, she had no doubt that he was a kind man. "C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!" They tripped over themselves as they attempted to keep up with his large strides, going up and down a steep, narrow path. The darkness making it difficult to see. She heard a plump boy with an ugly toad sniff once or twice.
"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," the giant man's gruff voice boomed over the crowd, and she was quick to raise her head to see the mystical castle. "Jus' round this bend here." There were exclamations of wonder and delight at the sight, and her eyes widened in agreement.
The narrow path had suddenly opened onto the edge of a great black lake, and she saw, perched atop a high mountain, a castle with windows sparkling from the starry sky, set with many turrets and towers. She stared at the sight for the rest of their walk, her feet moving automatically to keep up with the mass of children heading to an unknown location, only stopping when she nearly slammed her face into another's head.
"Alrigh' no more'n four to a boat!" The giant man yelled, and she hastily got into the small wooden structure as neatly as she could, trying not to dampen her robes or shoes. The water, she noticed, was black. Darker than midnight with great unknowns and dangers that had probably taken countless students before her, who all travelled in small rickety boats such as the one she sat in.
Her boat only held three people, unlike others which had four. A small boy with sandy hair and red cheeks, and a girl that fancied platinum. "I'm Lily Moon," she said in a quiet voice, "Ernie Macmillan" the boy said, and stuck out his hand for them to shake. She smiled slightly, but regarded them carefully. They spent the rest of the boat ride over the black water silent.
"Heads down!" the giant man yelled, and they all bent their heads as the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in a cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to take them right to underneath the castle, until they reached an underground harbour, where they clambered onto rocks and pebbles.
The first students clambered out of their boats, and started making their way up a passageway of rock, following the man's bright yellow lamp, finally coming onto damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. And, with a ginormous fist, the small giant with the large, scraggly beard, raised his hand, and knocked three times on the castle door.
She looked up in wonder from her spot at the table of snakes, Slytherin.
Once entering the castle, many students had visible dismay on what was to come and how they were to be sorted, but the strict professor (who told them to address her as Professor McGonagall) led them through rows of tables, and, much to her relief, explained that all they had to do was try on an old hat.
Upon her entry to Slytherin (where cunning and ambition was valued), she was met with polite applause and blank expressions, every student sitting with perfect posture, and a ghost in chains and silver blood at the end of the table.
Everyone waited patiently through the countless others that had to go through their sorting as well, and while she registered the names of her peers, she stared up at the glowing ceiling, full of stars and dark clouds, in wonder. Though she may have grown up in a magic household, it was used few and far in between.
She was dismayed to see a Malfoy sorted into Slytherin, the hat barely touching his head before it screamed out the name– though it was to be expected– and comforted when the girl from the boats came soon after, her nature was calm and quiet, something that was greatly appreciated.
And then, with a bated breath, the hall watched as McGonagall finally reached the Ps. "Patil," and "Patil," and "Parkinson," and "Perks," and finally "Potter, Harry!" A boy stepped forward, though she barely got a glance as every person in front of her stood up to see the young wizard that had killed the dark lord. He had black hair.
"Potter, did she say?" Someone yelled beside her, a brutish boy with pimples up and down his nose and light brown hair.
"The Harry Potter?"
Everyone still stood up, with craning necks and wide eyes, and as she herself went to go one her toes to see the mysterious boy, the hat dropped over his eyes, sliding half-way down his face, and everything became silent, waiting with a bated breath.
They watched as the boy clenched his hands on the stool, and as his feet knocked into the floor, tapping in anxiety of what was to come. His mouth moving slightly in reverent prayer. It was minutes, stretched out to feel like hours, until the rip appeared in the hat again and it roared out "GRYFFINDOR!" causing the entire hall to erupt in cheers. He took off the hat, and she finally got her first look at the boy who lived. His head a wild rat's nest of black, his robes fitting loosely on haunched and trembling shoulders, and wide, relieved eyes shining through round-rimmed glasses.
He looked sickly, and nothing like the boy of tales that grew in a palace with a horde of elves to wait on him as he was showered with the gifts of the masses. She frowned, and the noises and yells of the hall came back to her.
"We got Potter! We got Potter!" two redhead twins yelled doing a dance of long limbs. People got up to pat his back and shake his hand, and the boy sat at the table of red and gold looking dazed.
She continued to stare at the thin boy, even as the headmaster gave his welcoming speech, delivering a few odd words at the end of a threat of death. She only allowed herself to be recaptured by the sudden appearance of food. Piles and piles lined the table, a feat as big as any she had ever seen before. She nodded to herself, satisfied, before reaching out for a serving spoon and piling her plate high with potatoes. They were delicious.
As she ate, she listened silently to the conversations around her, already separating friends and foes in her mind based on the way they spoke. It did well to be cunning, and associating with the right sort of people could go a long way.
"My father, of course-" she heard a haughty voice explain, "it was to be expected. Malfoy's do have an important reputation to uphold." She turned to see a boy with white-blond hair sitting several seats down from her, preening at the attention he was receiving as he spoke to an older looking boy with crooked teeth, and close-cropped hair. Draco Malfoy. She remembered, meeting him several times at various events she attended with her family. He would be the type of person her father and mother would want her to consort with.
"How can one person be so full of themselves just over their father?" Someone wondered aloud next to her, and she turned to see Lily staring at the pale boy. She smiled to herself, agreeing with the sentiment.
"Can you believe it?" She spoke with slight hesitance, not sure if sharing her thoughts on the family was appropriate behavior. "You would think that his father was Merlin." Lily turned to her, amusement shining in her pale eyes, and she slightly relaxed with relief. Knowing that the girl next to her was good company.
"We met on the boats. I'm Elizabeth Moon, but I go by Lily." The girl spoke quietly, but she gave her a pretty smile.
"Daphne Greengrass," Daphne responded in kind. "Pleasure." Lily's eyes crinkled before she turned back to her food.
"This is amazing, isn't it?" Her quiet voice spoke with more excitement. "They must have trillions of house elves to do all this. We've only got two at home, and while mum says that they're the best, I've never seen them do anything like this." Daphne nodded in agreement.
"It is really good. I've never had anything like this before," as she took a spoonful of saucy dish with chunks of meat. Her family only stuck to proper English food, but it was fascinating to be surrounded by piles of hidden cuisines from other parts of the country.
For the next hour, the loud, yelled conversations died down, and everyone sat contently eating until the headmaster got up once more to send them off to bed with a storm of chaos and loud bellowed singing that was sung off a red twisting ribbon. Everyone choosing their own tunes (those around her going for dramatic opera to unheard murmurs), ending at random times, with the same red-head twins as before dragging it on, choosing the tune of a slow funeral march. Once they had finished, the headmaster had opened his arms and shooed them all to bed. Leaving a hoard of people rushing to reach the now open doors first.
"Alright then!" A boy donned in green and black robes yelled over the ensuing sounds of people. "First years, follow me! Quietly now and in a line!" They followed the prefect down stairs (he explained that they moved at random and how to watch out for the missing steps) and into a dark, cold hallway with flickering candles as their only source of lights. There were no windows around and the dark, closed doors around them reminded her of dungeons.
They stopped at a bare stretch of stone wall, where the boy stood primply and said "Salazar." The stone opened, and he turned to the first years before they entered. "This is the entrance to the Slytherin common room," he explained, "the password will change in a week's time, but we've made it simple since you're all new here," he smiled at the small crowd, attempting to look reassuring.
He stepped through and they followed him, still staying in a single line. The common room was dimly lit, green, and gloomy. A window stared out into darkness, the walls glistened as though they were wet, and the candles lit gave off a dull glow, barely showing enough light. The furniture was done up smartly though, set in thick velvets and leathers that showed off the clear richness of the most ambitious house in the school. The worn (yet brushed) chairs sat students quietly speaking to themselves, and there were hallways that disappeared on the sides. Daphne smiled. She would be happy here.
"Girls' dormitories are on the left, boys' on the right; it's two to a room. Everyone should be up by seven-thirty for an eight o'clock breakfast, and our head of house, Professor Snape, who's also the potions master, will hand out schedules then as well." He looked around, "are there any questions?" No one answered. "Right. We'll explain things properly tomorrow, but for now, the lot of you should go to bed. You'll need the rest. First days tend to be exhausting, for all of us really." He chuckled to himself, before nodding to himself and disappearing down the right hall.
"So," Lily turned to look at Daphne, "would you perhaps like to share a room? I know you the best out of all these people," she looked slightly shamed at the fact, but Daphne gave her a pleased smile and nodded once, not admitting to the girl that Lily was the only one she knew as well.
Daphne woke up before seven thirty. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, and careful not to wake up the girl sleeping in the other bed, she went to her trunk to pull on her robes and started placing things in the opulent wardrobe that was placed against a wall. She left her room to go to the commons, hoping for a peaceful room with little people, but to only be disappointed when she saw the Malfoy boy and a couple others from her year that she recognized. He turned to look up as she entered.
"You must be the Greengrass girl," he said smugly, as though she had been withholding information that he had found out. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. My father does business with yours." he added at her blank expression. She nodded once in acknowledgement which seemed to put him off (to her pleasure). The slight annoyance that showed on his face though was once again replaced by the smug smirk as he took her hand in his and bowed over it. "It would be good of you to acquaint yourself with me, Greengrass. I'd wager that you'd find my company to be quite pleasing." She stared blankly at him and nodded again.
"Quite." She repeated, feeling gleeful again at how perturbed he looked at her unenthusiastic response. She nodded once to one of the boys whose mother was friends with her's, and went to sit on one of the decedent chairs, only to be stopped by the prefect from the night before accompanied by a girl that looked to be his age, Lily rushing in a few moments later.
"Good morning everyone," he attempted the comforting grin again, though it looked more like a grimace, "I trust that you all had a good night's rest?" No one answered, and he nodded to himself. "Good. As I explained the night before, myself and my counterpart will explain to you how your first day is supposed to go and what Slytherin house's role is in the school." He looked to the girl who stepped forward to speak.
"Slytherin is most commonly known as the house of dark wizards. For this, many of your peers will not trust you and may antagonise you." She looked to each of them, "as you are first years, all conflicts you have are little consequence to us. But prefect selection starts as early as today, so it would do you good to be on your best behaviour." There were a few nods of agreement, and she smiled (much more genuinely than the boy), satisfied. "Alright. As Higgs mentioned to you last night, the password will change next week to a more complex one. You will be notified of the change the night before. Breakfast for Slytherins is always at eight, and your schedules for the week will be given to you every Monday by our head of house." She turned towards the boy.
"Right then, that's all. We'll head down to the hall for breakfast now." he turned to go towards the exit (which was just a plain door from the inside) before halting right before he opened it. Daphne caught herself before she smacked her face on the shoulder of a boy who was roughly the size and shape of a gorilla. "Another thing you should know before you start your first day of many: Slytherin house has won the house cup for six years in a row now," his false smile left his face, "it is your responsibility to keep that record. Is that clear?" Daphne found herself nodding hastily with those around her. The boy called Higgs looked horribly mean when the grimace-smile left his face, and she certainly didn't want to feel his cruelty.
As she walked into transfiguration behind the rest of the Slytherins. They moved to the tables lining the left side of the room, since the right of the room sat two Gryffindors; a pudgy boy with blond hair, and a girl with bushy brown. There was no teacher in the classroom, just a cat with strange markings around its eyes that sat staring at them, but they all stayed silent, no topic of conversation catching their interest.
The girl with bushy hair pulled her nose out from the large book that she read from, and turned to them, offering them a wide smile showing two large front teeth. Daphne frowned at her lack of decorum, and her looks that weren't proportionate. Her frown softened slightly at the girl's smile though, it seemed genuine enough.
"I'm Hermione Granger," the girl announced proudly. "Professor McGonagall came personally to give me my letter over the summer, and I was ever so pleased to find out that I had magic of all things!" She stared at them with beaming eyes, and Daphne gazed at her with a pitiful expression. The girl was annoying, to say in simple terms. She clearly was incredibly bookish and well-read, but brash and blunt. But, it wasn't her behaviour that set the blond off a bit, it was her name. Granger was very distinctly muggle. Perhaps it could have the smallest ties to a broken family however many years ago, but the girl in front of them was undoubtedly a muggle born.
She turned to stare at her peers, all of them staring at the girl in front of them with varying expressions of disgust and shock. The pudgy boy that now sat alone on the Gryffindor side stared at the girl with fearful wide eyes, and, Daphne noticed, the cat curiously looking over with an air of expectancy. Hermione continued to smile at them, though it wavered slightly, and the brightness in her eyes dimmed a bit. Besides a few lip curls, no acknowledgment of the bush-haired girl with big teeth was shown.
"Granger?" Someone behind Daphne spoke, a tall and brutish girl with a thin mop of mousy brown hair. "I don't seem to remember that name from the books mother showed me." The girl, Hermione's, smile dimmed a bit, but she stood confidently in front of them all the same. The cat on the stool moved, however, almost as if it would leap to the defence of the girl, should anything untowards happen.
"That's because it isn't a known family name, Bulstrode," Malfoy spoke up, "she's a muggle." He wrinkled his nose as he stared at the girl, and she shrunk under his gaze.
"I have, I have muggle parents. But Professor McGonogall told me that I was a witch," she defended herself, standing up straighter against the harsh looks of her peers. Daphne frowned, but understood why the bookish girl had been sorted into the house of lions instead of eagles; her brash personality could be mistaken for braveness.
"That still makes you a muggle though, doesn't it? You weren't born to wizards, so you are of muggle blood, aren't you?" He sneered. "Of course you are. Just a filthy little mu-" The pudgy boy suddenly stood up, his chair scraping backwards loudly as he marched towards the girl, his cheeks red.
"W-what she is is no interest of yours," the boy stammered as he stared Malfoy down, Daphne and a few of her peers giggled at his trembling form and clenched fist. Though he attempted to look brave, it was clear that he was anything but, and his presence was truly pitiful.
"Really? And who are you to tell me what is or isn't my concern?" Malfoy looked sharply at the pudgy boy, who attempted to stand straighter.
"Neville L-longbottom."
"Longbottom?" the pale boy guffawed, and many of the other boys joined in chuckling. Daphne couldn't help but stifle a bit more laughter as well, the name was quite silly, and the boy didn't look like he came from the formidable house. "Well that isn't much either, is it? Your lot is just a bunch of happy wizards that kiss Dumbledore's robes."
"Well," the boy, Longbottom, huffed his stance growing taller, "at least my family didn't run around with Y-you-Know-Who," though he spoke with a tremble he spat out the words, and Daphne couldn't help but feel a small speckle of respect for the boy. Longbottom then led the Granger girl back to their table, and they waited silently as the rest of the Gryffindors trickled in, wondering when the strict professor was going to make an entrance.
It was nearing the ten minute mark where Daphne started to get annoyed, and she could see her peers (including the bushy-haired muggle girl) wear similar expressions. Their transfiguration professor wasn't in the classroom, and they were spending their first day doing nothing but dawdle at their desks! The cat looked around once more, seemingly preparing itself for something, before the door flew open with a bang.
"Made it! Can you imagine the look on old Professor McGonogall's face if we were late?" a brutish voice belonging to a freckled ginger spoke. Daphne almost rolled her eyes at his ignorant tone. Though their professor was late, it didn't do them good for her own students to be as well.
Her eyes snapped to the front of the room, however, as the cat gracefully leapt off the desk and turned into the strict woman with spectacles, an emerald green witch hat, and black hair pulled back in a tight bun. The redhead simply stared at the woman with his mouth slightly open and his eyes shining in awe.
"That was bloody brilliant!" He exclaimed, and Daphne couldn't stop herself from wrinkling her nose at his language, noting that Professor McGonagall didn't seem too far off from doing the same herself.
"Well, thank you for that assessment, Mr. Weasley," she replied snappily, "perhaps it would be more useful if I were to transfigure Mr. Potter and yourself into a pocket watch? That way, one of you might be on time." Daphne hurried to hide a smirk behind her hand, and noted that many others in the room (not only of Slytherin) did the same.
"We got lost," a smoother voice chimed in, and Daphne turned her head back again to look at the messy-haired boy that spoke. It was the second time that she had seen Harry Potter, and couldn't help but again think how thin and unimpressive he looked. Where was the boy that had lived in the castle with a hoard of elves to rival Hogwarts for him to command? Where was the boy that spent his life doing great wonders of magic?
"Then perhaps a map? I trust you don't need one to find your seats," Professor McGonagall said snippily and the two boys nodded sheepishly before heading to sit at the back of the classroom, immediately sharing a suspect look once the Professor's back was turned.
"Well then-" the woman started, before turning her desk into a pig and getting exclaims of awe. Daphne erased her previous thoughts. She felt that this class was going to be rather enjoyable.
She walked into the common room to find Malfoy whining as Parkinson tried to console him, and everyone wearing small glares on their faces. It was clear that something had happened in between the short period of breakfast and noon, something that had deeply unsettled all her housemates and had made Malfoy more insufferable than usual.
Making her way to Lily, who also had a concerned frown marring her features, she touched her friend lightly on the shoulder before sitting down next to her. "Daphne!" Lily exclaimed in her quiet voice, "are you back from the hospital wing already? I thought you had taken ill." Daphne winced at the worry in her friend's tone, having only gone to the hospital wing to get out of flying on a broom; the heights didn't agree with her.
"I'm fine, Lily," she placated the pale girl before looking around again. "What happened to everyone? And why does Flint look like he's going to murder someone?" The older boy always looked trollish and seemed to have a permanent sneer on his face, but the expression he wore now promised bloodshed and pain.
"Well-" Lily bit her lip and fumbled with her fingers, "during flying lessons today, the Longbottom boy fell off his broom." Daphne frowned, she had seen him come in being escorted by the flying professor, Madam Hooch, clutching his wrist with a pale face. "When Madam Hooch took him to the hospital wing, she told everyone not to touch their brooms, but Malfoy didn't listen, and picked up something the Longbottom boy had dropped. He said that he was going to put it in a tree for him, and flew off." Daphne's frown now pointed towards Malfoy who was still waving his arms about at Parkinson.
"Is that why everyone's upset? Because Malfoy got in trouble?" Lily shook her head quickly.
"No, not at all. As a matter of fact he didn't get into any trouble. Potter flew after him and Malfoy threw whatever it was he was holding- a ball I think- to the ground, and Potter dove after it, he almost crashed too." Daphne felt her heart pick up. She knew Potter was stupid, but this was sheer idiocy with little thought to be paired. "Then Professor McGonagall stormed out on the grounds, and she took Potter looking like she was going to get him expelled. Malfoy was terribly pleased of course, and wouldn't stop gloating about it when they left," she bemoaned, and Daphne nodded at her in sympathy. "But then, Liz Tuttle, I think it was, came into the common room rambling about McGonagall asking for Oliver Wood when they had charms, with Potter next to her!" Her friend seemed to be overworked, and Daphne looked to her in concern.
"Alright," she began uncertainly, "and Oliver Wood is?" Lily blushed deeply before smiling sheepishly at Daphne.
"Sorry, I only found out myself an hour ago, but he's the captain for the Gryffindor quidditch team. That's what everyone's so upset over, because they all think that McGonagall wants to put a first year on the Gryffindor team." Daphne stared incredulously at everyone in the room, still wearing their small, petty glares on their faces. She shook her head, but felt herself frowning as well.
She knew that first years never got on the school quidditch teams, no matter how good they were. This simply seemed like Potter was being given a concession; a rather large one. She always thought the professors were impartial towards students, but perhaps she was wrong, the transfiguration professor was clearly showing favouritism to Potter for letting him on the team instead of giving him detention.
She didn't like that at all.
Daphne couldn't help but look at the mountain of food in front of her. Ever since she had come to Hogwarts the dinner's were impressive, but this one trumped all the others. Piles and piles of stews and pies sat in between bubbling soups and puddings. The hall was decorated beautifully as well, with ginormous carved pumpkins floating through the air along with live bats circling around the stormy ceiling.
The professors, including her own head of house who seemed to be dressed as a bat himself, looked more cheerful than any other feast, and the noise in the large room seemed more boisterous than usual.
Hogwarts was everything she thought it would be and more. Of course there were parts that were distasteful, such as the cackling poltergeist and the sneaking caretaker, but she found that her teachers liked her well enough, and the old cat that the other students hated (Mrs. Norris) was kind and liked licorice.
"Look at the Headmaster's robes!" the quiet voice she had grown accustomed to exclaimed beside her. "They're garish!" And Daphne turned to look at what her friend was talking about only to smother a laugh.
The Headmaster was wearing bright orange robes with black trimming and a hat to compliment. It wasn't that the robes were overly ugly (she had seen uglier ones) they simply didn't suit the Headmaster's willowy nature and long beard.
"They're disgusting and should be burned," a dark skinned boy whose mother was friends with her injected snootily before turning back to his meal. Daphne shook her head at him, though her mother and father had set her aside before getting on the train, stating passionately on whom she was and wasn't to consort with, she found herself ignoring those wishes. First in the form of Malfoy and his friends, and next in the form of Zabini and his posse. Her only friend was still Lily (who was agreeable enough) and occasionally a half-blooded girl she spoke to for work that went by Tracy.
Daphne was just helping herself to a piece of delectably smelling shepherds pie when the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor came sprinting the Hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached the Headmaster's chair, slumped against the table and gasped, 'Troll- in the dungeons- thought you ought to know." And then promptly sank to the floor in a dead faint.
There was an uproar and Daphne found herself starting to get to her feet as well, terrified. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of the Headmaster's want to bring silence. "Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!" And Daphne found herself becoming terrified yet again. Was the man an idiot? Did he really hate their families so much that he would try to get innocent children killed? She found her terror reflected on the rest of the Slytherin student's faces, when one of the older prefects, a Farley, Daphne remembered, stepped forward.
"We'll be staying here," she announced over the chaos of the hall, "no one is to leave, or move for that matter, until this problem is resolved." Almost at once, as if it was coordinated, everyone sat down and faced forwards, not daring to show an expression on their faces, though Daphne noticed the Parkinson girl looking like she was about to cry.
Daphne entered the great hall the next morning to whispers. She sat down and helped herself to eggs, but wondered what everyone was speaking so intently about. It was only because of her vulnerability for information that made her turn to Malfoy and ask the question.
"Do you know what they're all gossiping about?" She snapped quietly at him, and hated the smug look that crossed his face.
"I do actually," he pronounced proudly, "why? Do you want to know, Greengrass?" Daphne grit her teeth in annoyance, and nodded once, though the blond boy's smirk only grew more pronounced at that. She almost throttled him.
"Yes, Malfoy. I would love to know what everyone is speaking about." She scowled, daring him to push her patience further, but he simply smirked back.
"Well," he began smugly, "I heard it from Parkinson actually, who had heard it from Deadworth, who had heard it from Bampton who had heard it from Bexley," Daphne clenched her hand into a fist as he spoke, knowing that he was doing this simply to annoy her, "who had heard it from Haywood who had heard it from Smith who had heard it from Jones who had heard it from Brown, that Potter apparently killed the troll last night with Weasley saving that muggle girl, Gringer or whatever." He smirked at her dumbfounded expression and continued, "it's all rubbish if you ask me though. The counter for Gryffindor hasn't even gone up ten points, and there's no way Potter would be brave or powerful enough, let alone Weasley." He sniffed disdainfully and looked to Daphne with an expectant look on her face, waiting for her cries of awe, wonder, and gratitude.
She stared at the mostly empty Gryffindor table expecting something that wasn't there, and then looked to the counters at the front of the hall, the pile of Gryffindor's rubies having barely risen the past week. Surely if two first years had saved one of their peers and killed a troll they would be awarded beyond their dreams? An announcement or trophy at least, with five hundred points at best. She snorted as she turned to the pale boy staring at her, "of course it isn't possible Malfoy. I'm almost concerned you even fancied the thought that Potter could achieve such a thing." She enjoyed watching him flush at her words, and was even more pleased when he ignored her for the rest of breakfast.
As the day went on, there was no mention of what Harry Potter had achieved from any of the teachers. Only whispers of his great deed from the night before followed her, and she couldn't help but wonder where the rumour had come from or if it was real. Potter himself didn't mention anything through the several classes that they shared together, and she had begun to believe that this was nothing more than the silly rumour that was whispered about him slaying a dragon at three.
As November began, the weather turned frighteningly cold. Students throughout the halls walked huddled together, donned in thick coats and scarves. Every fire remained roaring in their fireplaces, and every morning the ground was covered in frost.
The whispers of the troll had just barely died down when new ones began, leaving a great air of expectancy and excitement around the castle, palpable in every student. It was quidditch season, and if Daphne had a knut for every time she heard someone speak of the upcoming match Slytherin had against the Gryffindors, she would have at least two hundred of them.
It had been confirmed some weeks earlier that Potter was definitely playing as the Gryffindor speaker, leading to more tension between the Slytherins and Gryffindors and leaving everyone looking forward to the match more than usual.
Daphne however was not. She still found that Professor McGonagall's treatment towards the young Potter was purely based on favour. The youngest player in a century to make the team, and he happened to be the "Boy Who Lived" and the golden Gryffindor that slayed trolls and dragons as though it was a regular passtime. Even though it wasn't a personal slight against her, she found it all terribly unfair.
Everyone made their way towards the quidditch pitch, sitting among their houses, Hufflepuff and Slytherin on the Slytherin side (the hufflepuffs did not wish to see the Gryffindors prevail in this match, it would make things harder for their own victory of the cup) and the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors on the other with teachers and special guests parting them in the middle.
Daphne had never seen a quidditch match in her life, but she was familiar with the vigour her cousins spoke of the sport and was eager to see her first game, and recognize the rules and plays.
As the teams made their way to the middle of the pitch, thunderous cheers erupted and the Slytherin girl had to wince at the noise. The Gryffindors stood facing the Slytherins until a whistle blew and the teams kicked off into the air.
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor-"